Seraphine's POV
The scent of food guided me back toward the living room—like a cartoon character following a visible wisp of aroma.
Vanilla curled in the air behind me, betraying my every step. My hair was still damp from the shower, long auburn waves clinging to my back like vines. My tail, now dry and embarrassingly expressive, was curled tightly around my leg.
"Play it cool," I whispered to myself. "Just three strange, illegally attractive men in your kitchen. Nothing weird about that."
They turned when they heard me.
Zaire stepped forward with a bowl of soup, still steaming.
"I hope you don't mind me raiding your kitchen," he said, offering it with a calm, unreadable look. "Thought this might help before you dive into the heavier stuff."
My tail twitched, and I swore Kaiden's eyes followed it with too much curiosity.
"You… cooked?" I asked, stunned.
Zaire only gave a half-smile.
"Wait," I added, looking incredulously at the bowl. "With what? The quarter onion, one sad celery stick, and the lonely carrot in my fridge?"
Zaire chuckled, warm and low.
"Seasonings," he said simply.
I blinked at him. "That's it. You're staying."
Theo walked past, grabbing the door before it knocked. He turned with four more bags than expected.
"Uh…" I blinked. "Did you guys buy out the block?"
Kaiden whistled. "Just enough to avoid fighting over meat."
As I turned back, I made the mistake of looking.
Kaiden had removed his leather jacket, now in a snug black shirt that clung like sin. From where I stood, I could trace the outline of every chest muscle above the counter. His arms rested casually behind him, but they were all muscle—laced with faint scars.
My fingers itched to touch them.
He caught me staring. Smirked. Winked.
Abort. Abort. Abort.
I spun to Zaire instead. His blazer was gone too, sleeves rolled to the elbow, revealing lean forearms and the edge of a tattoo—inked and regal.
"Like what you see?" he asked, voice a deep hum.
"Yes. Very mu—"
I slapped a hand over my mouth.
He raised a brow, clearly amused.
I turned again.
Bad choice.
Theodore was in a tight light-blue tee and khaki cargos, arms loaded with food. The shirt hugged everything—the chest, the biceps, the V line that peeked above his waistband. His back flexed as he bent to set everything down.
I audibly gulped.
"What's for dinner?" I blurted, voice a full octave higher.
"Pizza, creamy pasta, grilled chicken, cheesecake, and soda, maybe more" Theo replied all innocently, not knowing the double meaning her laid out.
Kaiden grinned. "And possibly strippers if the Arabian Nights delivery misunderstood the order."
I snorted. "Can't wait to see who gets the belly dance."
They laughed.
I looked at them again. Still didn't feel real.
And yet, my tail didn't uncurl.
It stayed looped tightly around my leg like it was trying to stop me from bolting.
I failed to something shifted under the couch.
The sound was subtle. Like the drag of fabric over wood.
Three heads snapped to attention.
Zaire's eyes narrowed.
Theo raised a finger to his lips.
Kaiden was itching to move.
---
Theodore's POV
Her tail was the first thing I noticed. Uncoiled, loose, almost... playful. It curled around her ankle like a content cat, occasionally giving a soft flick or twitch, betraying the calm she was faking in her expression.
She perched on the middle stool at her kitchen island. Zaire sat directly in front of her, Kaiden opposite, already eyeing the grilled chicken like it insulted his bloodline.
I took the last available stool, near Zaire, pausing just before I sat. I wanted to sit next to her, always wanting to be closer. But people get nervous when I do, and after everything that happened tonight, the last thing she needed was me clouding her senses more than I already did.
Her apartment was warm in a way ours wasn't. Not just temperature, but atmosphere. The walls were painted that soft beige you only notice when warm light hits them, and the shelves were cluttered with random trinkets: little glass ducks, an aggressively pink lava lamp, an honest-to-god cat-shaped clock that blinked with each tick.
As she reached for her spoon, something shifted under the couch. A subtle scrape. Like cloth over hardwood. I looked up instantly, scanning.
Kaiden looked too. Zaire had already paused mid-chew.
Nothing moved.
Kaiden looked ready to go full bloodhound, but it would be rude. We all silently agreed not to spook the host.
"Oh my god, this is delicious," Seraphine declared, chewing delicately but already leaning in for another spoonful.
Tension evaporated.
"Can you share the recipe?"
Zaire smiled, soft and surprisingly fond. "How about a better deal? I'll cook for you."
I blinked.
Kaiden blinked.
Zaire blinked, as if he couldn't believe he'd said that either.
---
Zaire's POV
I glanced across the kitchen island at Kaiden. He was still shooting glances toward the living room couch like it owed him money. I didn't blame him — I'd heard it too. That soft scrape. Fabric dragging over wood. Just once.
We both looked at Theodore. He had his "don't embarrass us" face on.
So we behaved.
Barely.
Instead, I focused back on the woman whose soup spoon was now gently clinking against porcelain. Her brows lifted. "Oh my god, this is delicious," she said, eyes wide, one hand still half-covering her mouth as she chewed.
"Can you share the recipe?"
I smiled, soft and surprisingly fond. "How about a better deal? I'll cook for you."
There. I said it. The words left me before I could stop myself. To late I'll mentally berate myelf later while handing out my business card.
Kaiden and Theo both stared at me as if I'd just announced a wedding. Seraphine blinked again, clearly caught off guard.
"Um…" She looked down at the card. Her fingers brushed against mine, warm and delicate. "I mean… I don't even know you guys. I've had a deeply weird day. You broke into my apartment, saw my tail, and cooked me soup like it's a Tuesday. Who does that?"
"People with good taste in women," Kaiden offered smoothly, holding out his own card like he was auditioning for The Bachelor.
Theo followed silently, placing his on the counter between the pizza box and the soda bottle. His had clean white print and no phone number. Of course.
Seraphine stared at the three cards like they might bite. Then—without a word—stood up and walked off into the hallway.
All of us deflated like synchronized balloons.
---